


a beautiful start (to a lifelong love letter)

by amillionsmiles



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: F/M, Gen, this is where the cynical side of me goes to die, we're reviving the romcom binches !!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:51:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amillionsmiles/pseuds/amillionsmiles
Summary: shorts & drabbles based on prompts requested through tumblr.3. hogwarts AU“Peter!  Don’t scare me like that. I could have hexed you.”  Could have. Definitelywouldhave, too, if I hadn’t recognized him.  Margot says I’ve got the brashness of a Gryffindor, sometimes, when I’m not trying too hard to be a homebody.





	1. college care packages

**Author's Note:**

> life's too short to not write for your inner teenager. that's exactly what this collection is for.
> 
> psa: I'm a book stan first and foremost so characterizations and world-building are heavily influenced by those, though I do take cues from the movie as well! hopefully regardless of whether you're coming here from movie-side, book-side, or both, there's something for you to enjoy :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked:** A sampling of the letters Peter wrote LJ while they're apart during college

“Oh my god.” Marcie stops in the doorway, shrugging off her messenger bag and taking off her shoes.  I can’t help smiling.  When I first moved into my dorm room at UNC, I wasn’t sure what to expect from my roommate, and I thought she might think some of my requests were weird, but Marcie has been more than just an accommodating roommate these past two months.  She’s been a real friend.

“Did a craft store throw up in here?”

“Very funny,” I say, though it comes out as more of a mumble because of the ribbon in my mouth.  Frowning, I take the jar of fruitcake cookie mix out of the box in front of me, shoving a pack of highlighters and pens in its place instead.

My bed is a mess of scrapbook paper and confetti.  I’m going to have a hard time picking some of these pieces out of my sheets later; in hindsight, I probably should have used my desk.

“I’m sending a care package to Peter,” I explain.  Hm. Maybe I should put the blue and orange scarf I knit for him on the bottom, so that it’s covered by everything else—that would make it more of a surprise.  I take everything out and start over.

Flopping backwards onto her bed, Marcie makes a gagging noise, but I know she’s only joking.  She met Peter when he visited two weeks ago, and they bonded over her older brother also playing lacrosse.  Also: teasing me about my grandmotherly habits.

Rolling over onto her side, Marcie props her head up on an elbow and asks: “So what’s in it?”

“Scarf.  Deodorant.  USB power strip, cooling gel pads for after lacrosse practice…”

“Damn, Lara Jean, can you organize  _my_  life next?”

“Maybe I will! Since you can’t keep anything on your side of the room,” I say, throwing one of her own socks at her.  Laughing, Marcie catches it.

Turning back around, I slide in the last of the items, a few of the Korean sheet masks Peter and I like to do together.  Then, of course, the letter, spritzed with a bit of my perfume because the last time Peter wrote, he mentioned missing its scent.  

There’s a whole garland of letters from him that I’ve arranged on my wall, underneath the fairy lights and the pictures of Chris, Lucas, Margot and Kitty, my dad.   _Peter will write a letter to Lara Jean once a week.  A real handwritten letter, not an e-mail._   He’s been remarkably steadfast about it, so far.  But then, maybe I always knew he’d be, because he’s steadfast about  _us._

I close the box and start taping it up.  Signed, sealed, delivered.

*.*.*.*

_Dear Peter,_

_Hopefully this gets to you before the big lacrosse game.  But if not, then treat it like a victory package.  Or a comfort package—not that I think you’re going to lose.  You’re going to do great._

_I got you face masks so that we can do them together next time we Skype.  Your favorite—cucumber and rose.  The jar should have all the dry ingredients you need for the fruitcake cookies you like.  I also made you a pack of positivity post-its since we both have tests coming up.  And then there’s a surprise at the very bottom… please be gentle with it because I spent a lot of time on it._

_Love,  
Lara Jean_

*.*.*.*

_Dear Lara Jean,_

_I made the cookies the other day and they didn’t taste completely terrible, but yours are still better.  Thank you for the scarf._

_The weather’s getting colder here and the Lawn is covered with leaves.  When you’re home for Thanksgiving we should go have a picnic on it._

_Also I’ve been thinking about it since we watched Say Anything and the Spectacular Now back to back, but don’t you think that John Cusack and Miles Teller look kind of alike?_

_Love,  
Peter_

*.*.*.*

_Dear Peter,_

_If that was your way of nicely asking me to send you already baked cookies next time, I’ll consider it if you say please._

_I found the most gorgeous dress to use for my Juliet costume.  Do you still have the hairspray saved from Character Day to use for Romeo? I wish we could be together for Halloween._

_You know, now that I think about it, you’re right.  Their characters are a little bit similar, too.  Say Anything wins for the iconic boombox scene, though._

_Love,  
Lara Jean_

 *.*.*.*

_Dear Lara Jean,_

_I went to an old-school record shop the other day. Picked up something for you there._

_Love,  
Peter_

*.*.*.*

“What is it?” asks Marcie, peering over my shoulder at the slim, square package.  My heart thumps fast; I have a hunch.  Eagerly, I tear off the packaging.

The cover beams up at me: AL GREEN written in dripping green letters, his face squinting up at me, that suede and leather jacket.  We have a vinyl record player in our room—courtesy of Marcie, not me, though it’s adorable and pale blue and I’ve not-so-secretly sent a picture of it to Margot in hopes that she’ll buy one for me for Christmas.  I all but skip over to it, sliding the record out of its sleeve and gently placing the needle on top.  The first scratchy notes start up, and I love it for how it sounds: crackling,  _lived_  in, like history pressed onto a page, and I love Peter for knowing that I’d love it.

_Let’s stay together, I, I’m, I’m so in love with you;  
whatever you want to do…_

“Our song,” I explain to Marcie, beaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holla @ me on [tumblr](https://amillionsmiles.tumblr.com/)


	2. peter makes pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked:** Peter making korean food and either failing miserably or it being delicious and LJ being so proud of him either way

“Whoa whoa whoa,” says Peter the minute he sees me peering into the kitchen.  “Out.  Kitty!”

Half-swallowed by the cabinets—where she’s digging around for a pan, probably—Kitty slides out and straightens.  “What?”

“You’re slacking on guard duty.  Take care of Lara Jean.”

“I do not need to be  _taken care of,”_  I protest, at the same time Kitty retorts: “Shouldn’t  _you_  take care of her, you’re her  _boyfriend.”_

To that, Peter laughs, ruffling Kitty’s hair as he passes her the bowl and whisk. “Fair enough,” he says, crossing the floor to make his way to me.  For just a moment, I wish our kitchen were larger, because I like watching his approach, the way he tries to brush the hair away from his forehead with the back of his hand and ends up leaving a streak of flour in its place.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the column with a hand above his head in the casual way guys do.  “I thought we agreed you were going to let me handle this.”

He’s wearing my apron.  The top of it is laughably small against his chest, but that somehow makes it more endearing, and I’m extremely tempted to tug him down for a kiss, but then I remember Kitty’s in the room.

“I just wanted to check on how things were going.”

Peter raises his eyebrows.  “Nothing’s burning, yet.  We haven’t even turned on the stove.”

“Yes. Right.” I pause. “…Did you find the chili flakes?”

Peter rolls his eyes.  “Yeah, they were in the spice cabinet, exactly where you said they’d be. Relax, Covey, I think I’m more than capable of whipping up a few pancakes.”

 _“Korean_  pancakes,” I emphasize.  “Pajeon.”  Kitty’s been on my case about making them all week.

“Pajeon,” Peter echoes, and I smile.  “Either way, it has, like, five ingredients.  Kitty and I already made the batter.  I think we can manage.”

“Okay, but then when you’re frying it you have to make sure to space out the shrimp and scallions, and don’t pour it on too thick, and—”

I cut off as Peter swoops close, startling me.  We’re eye-to-eye, now, and his gaze is soft and gooey-brown, like chocolate, though there’s amusement in it, too.

“You know I can read, right, Lara Jean?”

I flick his nose.

“Ow! Lara Jean!”

“Ugh, fine,  _don’t_  ask me for help,” I sniff, raising my chin.  I get a sense that this might be how Margot must have felt, when we started doing things on our own.  In the background, I hear the sound of a cap being unscrewed, Kitty asking: “Peter, can I put oil on the pan now?”

I shoot him a look.

“Go,” Peter says, putting a hand on my waist and using it to spin me the other way.  He nudges the small of my back.  “We’ll call you when they’re ready.”

“Okay, fine.”  I march back up to my room and flop onto the bed.  The new romance novel I was working through bounces with the motion and I reach for it, flipping to where I left off.

A short while later, Kitty yells: “Lara Jean, they’re ready!”

Downstairs, the air smells heavy with fried batter.  I pad into the kitchen, where Kitty is already hot-potatoing a steaming hot square from its plate to her mouth.

“Kitty! Use a fork!”

“Too late,” she says around a mouthful.

“Lara Jean.” Peter comes to stand beside me, presenting my plated pajeon with a flourish.  He looks so proud of himself that I’ve already decided to tell him it’s good, even before I’ve tasted it, just because I don’t want to wipe the smirk off his face.

Daintily, I pick up a fork, putting on my best neutral, food-critic face.  The first bite crunches between my teeth with delightful crispiness, and I end up shoving the rest of it in my mouth, eyes bugging out.

“Peter! It’s actually good.  Really good.”

“Why thank you,” he says with a flourish, giving a little bow as Kitty cheers.  When he straightens, we exchange a glance, and I think that if I could bottle this moment it would go right next to cinnamon and sugar and paprika we have in our cupboard, the first ingredient in the recipe to my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holla @ me on [tumblr](https://amillionsmiles.tumblr.com/)


	3. hogwarts AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Anonymous asked:** Peter and LJ Hogwarts au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes they talk with some of the British slang listen,,, they're at Hogwarts just roll with it

“Lara Jean, come on,” says Chris, tugging at my wrists.  “You can’t hide forever.”

“I can  _try,”_  I hiss, twisting away from her to keep my face buried in my hands. “Oh, god.  Is it possible to Obliviate a ghost?  Because I would.  And then I’d Obliviate myself.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I have a right to be! I was having what I thought was a  _private_  moment, and then it turns out  _Moaning Myrtle_  was there the  _whole time.”_   I’m rapidly moving past mortification and into the five stages of grief; bargaining gives way to depression.  “Chris, can you bury my body in an invisibility cloak so no one will find it?”

“Christ, Lara Jean, it’s not like you all were shagging.”  She pauses.  “Were you?”

A choked noise escapes me.  I feel like I’ve just inhaled a bag of Pepper Imps, all the steam rising to my face and smoking out my ears.   _“No.”_

“Well, then.”  I can practically hear the laughter in Chris’s voice, complete with an eye roll.  “You’ve got nothing to worry about.  I highly doubt you’re the only prefect in Hogwarts history to use the Prefects Bathroom to snog your bloody fine specimen of a boyfriend.  I mean, talk about  _perks.”_

I finally drop my hands, leveling her with a glare. “You’re not helping.”

“You love me anyways.” Threading her arm through mine, Chris guides me toward the Great Hall.  “Now that that’s settled, can we  _please_  go eat?”

Reluctantly, I let myself be dragged.  At the entrance, we part ways: Chris flounces off to the Gryffindor table, while I adjust my robes and eye the Hufflepuff crowd.  

A warm weight settles across my shoulders, nearly making me jump out of my skin.  “Hey, Covey.”

It’s not a secret that Peter and I are dating.  It’s hard for anything Peter does to slip under the radar, what with him being Hufflepuff’s Quidditch Captain and all. This close, he smells fresh, clean; and that, in turn, reminds me of the Prefects Bathroom—the burble of the jets in the pool, the heady jasmine-scented water, Peter’s mouth opening warm and wet against mine… ruined by Moaning Myrtle’s high-pitched titter.  She’s probably told all the other ghosts by now. Oh, god, is the Fat Friar looking at us? I’m pretty sure he’s looking at us.  

“I think one of the first-years needs something,” I squeak, slipping out from under Peter’s arm, quashing the guilt in the pit of my stomach as I go.

*.*.*

“Hey.”

“Ah!” Reflexively, I whip out my wand, only to be confronted by a loud: “Whoa whoa whoa,” two hands raised in surrender.

“Peter!  Don’t scare me like that. I could have hexed you.”  Could have. Definitely  _would_ have, too, if I hadn’t recognized him.  Margot says I’ve got the brashness of a Gryffindor, sometimes, when I’m not trying too hard to be a homebody.

One of Peter’s eyebrows ticks upwards, the beginnings of a smirk on his face. “I’m willing to take my chances.”

He takes a step closer as he says that, his voice brooked low.  Behind me, the fire crackles warmly; that’s when I notice the common room is suspiciously deserted.

“Peter… where is everyone?”

“I asked them to leave.” His eyes are dark—he’s studying my face carefully.  “I wanted to talk to you in private, and I know you don’t want me sneaking up to your room, so…”

It takes me a minute to soak in this information.  Not that he cleared the common room, because Peter has the kind of charisma that lets him gets away with those things, but the fact that he’d do it for me.  I get this unspooling feeling in my chest, like my heart is a package of ribbons about to fall apart.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Peter is saying, his hand tucked in the pockets of his robes.  “I just had to know if it was something I was doing, or—”

“I was embarrassed,” I blurt, wrapping my arms around myself and rocking back slightly on my heels.

Peter stops short.  “Of me?”

His expression has gone so quickly from curious to uncertain; there’s a bareness there that makes me want to kiss him right between the eyebrows, to wipe that doubt away.  But I don’t.  The truth is: Peter is my first, and even though it’s been almost two months, now, it still feels new to me, this thing between us.  And sometimes it scares me, how much I like him.  How much he makes me want to say yes.

“No, not of you.” I shake my head fiercely.  “But more like… what I could be caught doing with you.  Or the things you could convince me of.” It sounds so small when I say it. I resist the urge to shrink into myself.

“Lara Jean,” Peter says, and suddenly he’s right in front of me, holding my hands, squeezing them with a tightness that speaks of never letting go.  “I swear—I’m never going to force you into anything you don’t want to do.  Okay? You have to believe that.”

I study his face.  He is so concerned, this boy, and careful in ways I didn’t think he could be.

“I do,” I breathe, and I want to tell him how nice he looks in the firelight, up close, where I can see the way the sparks dance in his eyes.  I want to kiss him, here in the quiet, here with nobody around, so I get on my tiptoes and I do.

When we break apart, Peter sways forward slightly, his brown curls brushing against the top of my head.  “I wish I could keep kissing you forever,” he whisper-groans, and I bury my face in his shoulder to hide my smile.

“Not here. We can’t keep everyone else out of the common room for that long.”  

Peter tilts his head slightly, so that his lips are right by my ear. I make a small humming noise in the back of my throat at the sensation.

“I hear the Astronomy Tower’s nice,” he murmurs. He dips toward my neck. “And there’s always the Room of Requirement…”


End file.
